


Perspective

by blackbird



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbird/pseuds/blackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all about the way you look at things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective

  
  
The day you finally figured it out was nothing special. You got up, made coffee, took a shower, and sat on the windowsill with your guitar. Through the crack of the open window, the noise of the city waking up filtered in – the garbage truck rumbling down the street, a car alarm wailing, a mother shouting in Spanish at a little girl running down the sidewalk. And when you heard footsteps on the fire escape below, you didn't flinch.

*

It had been a little more than a year since Mimi died. Despite her miraculous recovery that Christmas, she never really got much better. By spring, the pneumonia was back and when she went into the hospital at the end of the July, it was for the last time. She hung on for a month, long enough for Mark and Joanne to track down her mother and for you to decide that you hated hospitals more than any other place in the world, including rehab. They honored her request to be buried in the same cemetery as Angel.

"Then you don't have to go too far to find us," she'd said softly to you and Collins from her bed.

And on a sweltering August day, that's what you did. You stood between Mark and Benny as the casket was lowered into the ground and for a second, you had the urge to throw yourself in with her. That always seemed like such an awful cliche to you until that moment. But before you could make a move, you felt Mark's hand reach for yours as he stepped closer. Like he'd known what you were thinking before you did. But then again, he'd always been that way. So you tried to concentrate on the weight of Mark's hand in yours as you watched another person you loved slowly disappear into the ground.

It would have been easy to slide back into your old habits after that, locking the loft door against the world, but you forced yourself not to. You went to Life Support with Collins and helped Maureen set up the sound equipment for her latest protest. But mostly you wandered around the city with Mark as he filmed.

Being with Mark was easy. There were no demands, no real pressure on you to do or say anything that you didn't want to and Mark didn't treat you like the others did, like you were going to lose it at any second. It was eerily like the beginning of your friendship, before April and Maureen and Mimi, before heroin withdrawal and HIV forced you to look at the ugly truth of life and it was just the two of you against the world.

You'd even been writing again. At night, while Mark was reediting his film, you would sit on the fire escape or on the roof and just play. Whatever came out, you scribbled it down on paper and didn't really think about until after, when you realized you'd written more songs in the last six months than you had in almost three years. Most of them were better than anything you'd written for the Well Hungarians and for the first time since the band broke up, you had the urge to play for an audience that was more than just Mark and the four walls of the loft.

The next morning, you made some calls. Your old bass player knew a guy that managed a little club on the Lower East Side and he was willing to fit you in between acts. You weren't sure you wanted to make it a big deal, but Mark insisted you tell Maureen, Joanne, and Collins. The bar was packed when you got there and it wasn't long before you felt that nervous buzz in your stomach. You hadn't been on stage in a while and never without a band to back you up. But you knew you had to do it, you needed to do it. So, you just closed your eyes and started to play.

It was over sooner than you thought it would be, but the audience liked you enough for the manager to offer you a regular slot. Collins pressed a drink into your hand and Joanne kissed you sloppily on the cheek. Mark just smiled at you, like he'd known all along.

Later, when the two of you were alone at the table, Maureen slung her arm over your shoulder and grinned.

"You should tell him, you know."

You just looked at her and when you didn't answer right away, she took that as a sign to go on.

"Don't you think you two have spent enough time pining over each other? I mean, yeah, he's a little neurotic and obsessive. And you have this whole tragic, self-destructive, rock and roll thing going, but who cares? Life is short, especially for you. Don't waste the time you have. Believe me, if Mimi was here, she'd say the same thing. No day but today."

You sputtered, trying to come up with a response but she covered your mouth with two fingers.

"Go back and really think about those new songs you wrote. It's all about the way you look at it."

Then Joanne was there, her arms full of glasses and Collins, back from smoking outside, with Mark and camera in tow. Mark slid into the booth next to you and you tried to ignore Maureen's knowing smile.

*

You were still sitting at the window when Mark came back. He was flushed, as if he'd run up the entire four flights. His bulging messenger bag hit the metal table with a clunk and you were sure there were at least four reels inside. He was still winding the camera when he started talking.

"I went to South Street Seaport this morning. I wanted some shots of the guys at the Fulton Fish Market to intercut with those shots from the windows in Chinatown. I would have taken you, but it was really early and I know you hate the smell of fish, so..." He stopped and turned around, watching you carefully.

"Are you okay?" he asked, biting his lower lip. He came to sit on the sill across from you and you still didn't say anything, just looked at him. You'd have to remember this day. It's not every day that Maureen was actually right about something.

"Roger?" he said, putting his hand on your knee. "What's going on?"

You still didn't say anything, you just wrapped your hand around the end of his scarf and tugged him toward you. It was light, just a brush of your lips against his but after a second, it deepened and you felt his hand on the back of your neck, fingertips under the collar of your shirt. It was like something clicked into place, something exactly right. When you finally broke apart to breathe, you answered him.

"Nothing really, just a change of perspective."

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Challenge #61](http://community.livejournal.com/speed_rent/195080.html) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/speed_rent/profile)[**speed_rent**](http://community.livejournal.com/speed_rent/), where it won 2nd place.


End file.
